


Childhood Games

by ceria



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, High School Reunion, Lots of OC's, M/M, Phil played chess in high school, and Dungeons & Dragons, so much silliness in this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 21:06:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4537377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceria/pseuds/ceria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the initial Prompt: Phil gets an invitation to his 30th high school reunion. He automatically starts to trash it but Clint sees it before he can. </p><p>Clint convinces him they should attend because he never went to high school and he's curious. Way too curious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty sure I wrote this before Avengers came out. (Yes, it's that old.) I fudged the timeline, the Avengers are a team and publically known before the events of this story and the BoNY happens after. Obviously, it's not (any) canon compliant.

It was a game often played between the two of them; Clint would use top part of the broken tv tray to write on while sitting on the loveseat in Coulson's office. But that wasn't the game. No, he would wait until Coulson stepped out for piss breaks or phone calls that had better reception near the hallway window, and move something, then wait for Phil to figure out what had changed while he was gone.

This was a different type of letter though; the gorgeous cream paper with maroon writing was addressed to Phil's post office box in Connecticut. His parents must have forwarded this since the original date was two weeks old already. The seal had been broken so Clint slid out the invitation – he was guessing an old friend's wedding – and read, instead, about a high school reunion. 

"I'm glad that wasn't classified," Phil said, coming back into the room. 

"The only thing classified about it is your age," Clint said. "Thirty years?"

"You knew my age months ago, Barton."

"But not everyone does, sir. What if it was Woo or Hill who picked this up to read it?"

"Invasion of privacy sound familiar to you? You're the only one reading my personal mail, Barton."

"Did you just announce we're dating, sir?" Phil glared at Clint's grin. "Then you should have left it home if you didn't want me to see it."

"As if that would have been a deterrent," Phil groused. "I needed to mail back the RSVP, so I brought it with me."

Clint took out the smaller card and frowned at the checkmark.

"What?"

"Not attending, really?"

"Since when do I have time for reunions with people I didn't truly care for when I was a teenager?"

"What was it like?"

"Not liking people? You excel at that, Barton."

"High school. Was it truly as terrible as people indicate?"

"Cliques, hormones and pimples. You were ostracized for wearing the wrong tennis shoes, or popular because you had sex with the cheerleaders and told everyone. Social standings were dominated by high sports scores and corresponding low IQ scores. It was joyful. Really."

"You were a total nerd, won't you?"

"But a brilliant one."

"Sports?" Phil sighed and rolled his eyes and Clint grinned at him. "What? I never got to experience it."

"It's much like the first few weeks of joining SHIELD, Barton."

"Except that students really don't know how to kill you in thirty different ways using office supplies?"

"Yes, there is that."

"Can we go?"

"We?"

"You're not interested in showing me off to a bunch of your former friends?"

"They weren't really friends, Barton."

"Oh, okay" Clint said, tucking the sheets back into the outer envelope and putting it back on the desk.

Shaking his head, Phil just sighed. "We've talked about this. I don't know what you're thinking when you don't actually _tell_ me."

"Nothing, sir," Clint said promptly and grumbling, Phil stood up and locked his door. Clint didn't move from the chair. Nor did he relax when Phil sat on the edge of his desk, legs spread wide to accommodate where Clint still sat, unmoving, now between them.

"Talk to me, Barton." Then Phil waited because sometimes Clint wasn't sure what bothered him and needed to work through it in his own mind first. Except this time was different and Phil knew it. Clint met his gaze and just grinned at him, shrugging his shoulders.

"It's nothing," he bit off the words before he said 'sir' again and stood up. "It's ten, I need to get to the range if I want to get all four hours in before our meeting." He looked relaxed and even smiled at Phil – as if nothing was wrong.

Phil could have let him go – Clint wasn't lying about wanting four hours. But the bitten-off 'sir' was still the only indication that his words weren't the total truth. He couldn't force Clint to answer him though. Instead he threaded their fingers together and tugged Clint close, resting their foreheads against each other. Clint tensed for a moment, then relaxed into the grip and stepped closer. 

Phil didn't mail the response.

 

"It's stupid," Clint admitted that night, lips brushing against Phil's skin. 

"Tell me anyway."

"I'm just curious about your past."

"I can tell you anything you want to know. Pretty sure I've already told you the important things."

"How did this get forwarded to you from the box in Connecticut?"

"My parents check it once a month for me."

"You never go home," Clint said, fingertips tracing definite patterns over Phil's hip. He was pretty sure Clint was writing in Russian. 

"I'm not all that my father wanted me to be," Phil finally admitted. An understatement. As the oldest, he'd been expected to marry and have enough rug rats to guarantee the Coulson name would continue. He'd been expected to go to work for his father and not join the military – and to have used his college degree for something business related. 

A long silence, then Clint whispered, "They don't know about me, correct?"

"My sisters know and Mom's seen the pictures I've emailed them. I don't know if Dad knows or not." Phil doesn't go home often; usually once a year for a couple days over his parent's anniversary. Last year he and Clint had been too new to consider taking him. This year, Clint had been on a mission out of the country.

He put the ideas together with the fact that Clint only distracted himself with Russian when he was nervous… He rolled over for this conversation, the street light shining into the room just bright enough to reveal most expressions. "Do you _want_ to meet them?"

Clint's fingers stopped moving. "Meet who?" Fake, fake, fake.

"If you want to meet them you can. My father's going to treat you terribly and carry on about the grandchildren he'll never have. My mother will force bad cooking onto you." He considered the rest for a moment. "My sisters will love you."

He remained silent a long time, working through something. Phil waited because it was still the best option when it came to Clint. "I didn't mean to push," Clint said. "If you'd rather not…"

"I would rather you do." Which solved a multitude of problems. Phil couldn't have gone to a high school reunion with a partner in tow and not take him home. Clint admitting he wanted that would let the rest of the plans fall into place.

 

Saturday morning was golf or a picnic. "So either you're a man and choose golfing or you join the wives and children?"

"Our ladies golfing team were state runners up," Phil said. They'd talked all morning about the things Phil remembered – from sports to clubs to his grades. Clint couldn't get enough of it. Too curious for a cat, Natasha often said about him. She was correct, as always.

"You look good," Clint mumbled as they left. "I like you in jeans."

"Neanderthal," Phil muttered and Clint threw his head back and laughed.

"My robot," Clint said, leaning close to kiss Phil's cheek. Phil looked good, even if he vetoed the Hawkeye t-shirt that Clint had tried to make him wear. He'd settled on a dark blue Henley that barely clung well enough to show off his physique. Unlike Clint who wore a fitted, sleeveless gray t-shirt and black jeans – and the usual well-worn combat boots. Phil wanted to roll his eyes at him. No one would mistake how much time Clint spent in a gym.

"Phil Coulson?" someone squealed as they approached the welcoming table at the park. "You look good, man!" 

"She was a cheerleader, wasn't she?" Clint mumbled and Phil nodded as he let her pull him into a hug. One of the nice things about being here was the large number of people shorter than him. He'd missed that while hanging around the Avengers.

"Hello, Stacey." He didn't flinch when her hands lingered on his biceps a moment too long. Nor did he grin as Clint shifted slightly closer and held out his hand. 

"I'm sorry," she said, staring at him. "I don't recognize you?"

"Oh, I'm with Phil," Clint said, leaning closer and hiding his grin when she looked confused for a moment, glancing between them.

"Are you his partner?" she asked, her sparkly smile fading just a little as she glanced over Clint.

"Sure am," Clint said, holding out a hand. Stacey kinda looked like she wanted to hug him too and there was no way that was happening. Clint hated physical contact from strangers.

 

The HELLO MY NAME IS… sticker make Clint laugh. "Why's it say checkmate on yours?" Clint's was blank – Phil hadn't filled in a name for his plus one - and Phil yanked the sharpie out of his hand before he could add 'Hawkeye' below his name. 

"Discretion is the better part of valor," he said just as Stacey opened her mouth again.

"So you didn't meet on the chess circuit?" Phil wanted to snicker at the idea of Clint playing chess. Barton wasn't the tactical genius that Captain Rogers was, even though he was very good at it. But Clint's style didn't include the patience that a game of chess took.

"There's a chess circuit?" Clint asked, glancing at Phil.

"He was the best chess player in Connecticut thirty years ago," Stacey said.

"I wondered where you learned your strategy from," Clint said, glancing at Phil's slightly flushed cheeks. "I didn't think it was from Dungeons and Dragons."

"He did that too," a male voice said from behind them and Phil didn't twitch. Nor did he reach for a gun he wasn't carrying. Clint narrowed his eyes at the involuntary movement however and when they turned around, he was standing slightly in front of Phil.

The large, burly redhead was exactly who Phil thought it would be. "Coulson, what made you decide to show?"

"Gavin," Phil said and Clint didn't move a muscle. He'd gone into sniper mode, his eyes tracking Gavin's body motions and where his hands were. He reached out a hand, presumably to shake Phil's, and Clint intercepted it with a strong grip of his own. 

After sparring with Captain America, this slightly large man wasn't any competition.

"Who are you?"

"Barton," Clint said, leaning back to brush himself against Phil. "So this must be one of the low IQ boys you mentioned," he said, glancing at Phil. Stacey snickered behind them.

"Down, Clint," Phil said, arms crossed across his chest and Clint could hear the humor in his voice.

"Football?" Clint asked and Gavin nodded. 

"And wrestling. State runner up."

Clint glanced at his not-so-developed biceps and the slight bulge of his stomach, "Obviously."

"Clint," Phil said one more time and Clint relented, letting go of Gavin's hand and sticking his hands in his pockets as if Gavin was harmless. 

"Who's your hired guard dog?"

"I'm here by choice, man," Clint said, grinning at Gavin. "I wanted to see what high school had been like for my partner."

"So what do you do?" Gavin asked, already dismissing Phil.

"Law enforcement," Phil said immediately and Clint grinned, then nodded.

Gavin grinned back. "Ahh, that kind of partner. At first I thought you meant something else."

"In every sense of the word, man," Clint said, leaning back and reaching briefly for Phil's fingers, finding them unerringly. 

"They let queers on the force now?"

Clint only shrugged. "It is New York, and I'm good enough that they don't argue my choices outside of work."

"You a detective?"

"Sniper," Clint said with a grin. "The best in the business."

"And it's time to move along," Phil said, pulling Clint away. "You're going to kill the grass if you keep pissing on it."

"Love it when you swear," Clint said, bumping his shoulder against Phil's. "So, we gonna meet any of your chess buddies?"

Phil wanted to bury his face in his hands.

"Or the D&D ones? I think they'd be more fun anyway."

"I have a new rule for the day, Barton. No antagonizing _anyone_."

"You're no fun, sir." He hesitated for a second. "Even if they start it?"

"Even if," Phil said quietly. "I don't want any bad PR while we're here, got it, Hawkeye?"

"Yes, sir," Clint said, saluting him.

A gaggle of children ran past them, one of them carrying a purple and blue bow and Phil _did_ bury his face in his hands when Clint laughed and raced after them. 

"Word's already spreading about your charming boy, Phil," a woman said behind him and Phil smiled at her without glancing at her name badge.

"Jessica, it's nice to see you. You look beautiful, as always."

She grinned and flung her long, black braid behind her shoulder. She didn't have many piercings in her ears but all the holes were still here. She'd never been beautiful in a classical sense but Phil had adored her in high school – she'd been one of the few people who'd known what she'd wanted and never cared what everyone else thought of her.

"I thought Stacey would have objected when Clint didn't stop," he admitted.

"Gavin left her eight weeks after school ended, which was three days after he found out she was pregnant. They're not really friends anymore."

"Really?" he asked, voice bland. As much as he didn't like to promote gossip, he still enjoyed it. A little bit.

"Don't get all stone faced with me, Coulson. You know you're curious."

"Maybe," he admitted.

"Just like I'm curious about that gorgeous man currently trying to teach the rug rats over there how to shoot a bow and arrow; what's up with that?"

Grinning before he could stop himself, Phil whipped his head around to find Clint sitting on the ground, five kids around him, each clamoring for help. He walked each one through a basic stance, correcting their footing, their posture, and telling them to breathe in and out in a controlled fashion, and, of course, to keep their arms straight and level. 

"Archery is a hobby of his," Phil said.

"How long?" Jess asked.

"Since he was ten."

"I meant how long have you been together."

"Met him five years ago, been together for the last two." He kept watching Clint, who praised each of his miniature students with their Nerf toys and then sent them running to collect their spent arrows. 

"Want to come meet my husband?" she asked and that startled him enough to look away from Clint.

"Husband?"

"Are you amazed I'm married," she asked, threading her arm through Phil's, "or surprised I'm married to a man?"

"I want to meet the paragon who convinced you to settle with one person," Phil said and she laughed.

"That might be an exaggeration."

Jessica's husband said his name was Nate and Phil shook his hand and introduced himself as an old friend of Jess. 

"I've heard about you," Nate said and Phil grinned.

"Only the terrible things, I hope."

"You were a legend with D&D – apparently every campaign you ran was the shit."

"I knew it!" Clint crowed and leaned around Phil, holding out his hand. "I want to know all about this," he glanced at Jess. "And you're going to tell me, correct?" She only shook her head.

Clint wrapped one hand around Phil's neck and brushed his thumb up and down. "I knew you were a geek, Coulson."

Nate did a once over and Phil could see him rolling his eyes at the Midwestern, corn-fed look Barton carried so well. "Did you ever play?" Nate challenged and Clint shook his head. 

"Nah. Grew up a carny, I've never seen a game played."

"Really?" Nate asked and suddenly Clint's classic looks faded and he became human. They exchanged brief backgrounds and Phil only smiled. He'd never seen Clint so _open_ about his childhood.

A couple more people wandered over to them, all exclaiming how Phil only looked a little thinner and older but was very recognizable. Clint demanded pictures as proof that Phil wasn't always in top form.

Unfortunately, too many people were able to produce old photo albums and Clint was off again, wandering from person to person, checking out yearbooks and photos. Getting a sense of teenaged Phil from everyone but Phil.

"You had more hair," Clint said, returning to his side once more, leaning over Phil's shoulders.

"It was thirty years ago, Barton."

"I like you better like this," Clint said and kissed Phil's temple. "So," Clint asked, glancing between Jess, Nate, and the others at the table. "What gossip are you dishing out to fill Phil in?"

"Gossip?" Jess said, all mock innocence, and Clint laughed. 

"I know what he watches on television. Of course he's curious. So tell me, who gave Phil problems in high school?"

"Stand down, Barton," Phil immediately barked and everyone at the table stopped what they were doing at the command in his voice – except Clint – turning to gape at Phil.

"We're not working today, sir. You don't get to order me around."

"I hear you already met Gavin," said a willowy woman with red hair and Clint grinned at her. 

"She looks like Pepper," Clint said and Jess raised an eyebrow at that. "Hi, I'm Clint. Do tell."

Phil just shook his head in exasperation and motioned for Jolie to continue. She pointed out another three men – all of whom had been jocks (even though she had to explain that word to Clint) and he saluted Phil, wandering off again.

 

"I've heard that before, you know," Jolie said, settling back into their conversation.

"What?" Phil asked.

"That I resemble Ms. Pepper Pots. The woman your boy just called Pepper, as if he knows her." 

"How would we know her?" Phil said faintly and Nate laughed. 

"Fess up, man."

Phil spent the next twenty minutes silently cursing Clint as he extricated himself with a variety of mostly-truths.

 

Dinner that evening was meant to be formal but Clint just rolled his eyes. He wore a nice pair of black jeans, actual dress shoes, and a dinner jacket Phil had packed – knowing Clint wouldn't bring one. 

Phil wore the dark blue suit that usually left Barton drooling on the floor. "You're cruel, man," Clint said, one hand tracing down the edge of Phil's tie while the other tugged at the cuff. 

"Undress me later," Phil said.

"Oh, you know I will."

 

Drinks were in the lounge and Clint stuck by Phil for two minutes, until Jess and Nate appeared, and kissed him on the cheek. "Got a little more reconnaissance to do. I'll be right back."

"Did you meet in the military?" Nate asked and Phil shook his head. "He seems so upstanding for a cop."

Phil thanked _long_ years of control that let him avoid spitting his martini out his nose. "Trust me," Phil finally said once he could breathe again, "Clint's on his best behavior tonight. This is not normal for him."

Eventually, Melissa Walker stood on the podium, tapping the microphone with one long fingernail. "I've been asked to make a couple presentations tonight. If I can have your attention?"

Clint slid into the seat beside Phil. "Who's that?"

"Class valedictorian." At Clint's uncomprehending stare he shrugged and added, "highest GPA, er grade point average, from our graduating class."

"And who was second?" Clint asked, grinning at him. Phil didn't answer. "Why am I not surprised," he whispered, leaning back. "I'd say I’m shocked you let someone beat you but she is kinda pretty."

"Phil had a crush on her for years," Jess said unhelpfully. 

"She wasn't interested?" he asked and Phil shrugged. 

"She played volleyball and tended to date the lesser known, more educated football players."

Melissa made her way from one table to the next, greeting everyone. "Phil! If I had known you'd be here I'd have asked you to do the speech."

"Then I'm glad you didn't know," he said, standing up to shake her hand. 

"Still polite as ever," she said and Clint snorted. "Did you come alone?" Without ending his conversation about art with Nate, Clint reached beneath Phil's jacket and wrapped his arm around hipbone, fingers splayed against Phil's flat stomach in perfect sight of Melissa's gaze.

"Oh," she said. "I guess not."

"Melissa, this is Clint," Phil said, stepping backwards so Clint wasn't rubbing his stomach any longer and Clint grinned up at her without standing. 

"Nice to meet you," he said, extending his left arm, forcing her to change which hand was held out to him to shake. Clint enjoyed the fact his hand was sticking out from under Phil's suit jacket a little too much. Any other time and he wouldn't have gotten away with such an open claiming but here? Phil didn't seem to mind so much.

Either way, he instantly dismissed her as she fidgeted, letting Phil finish their conversation without him. Clint turned back to Nate, "I know an excellent artist. I keep trying to get him to do a show but he's resistant to the idea."

"What's his name?" Nate asked and Phil dropped his hand to Clint's shoulder in warning.

"Steve, but I doubt you've heard of him. He's not put anything out for public consumption in years."

"I own a gallery not too far from New York," Nate said. "You could always give him a card."

"Barton," Phil said in-between his conversation with Melissa.

"What?" Clint asked, grinning up at him. "He might get tired of law enforcement."

"Does Steve have a last name?"

"Of course, it's Rog…."

"Barton," Phil said again, raising one eyebrow at his partner. "Enough."

"How about this, then," Clint said. "You give me a card and I'll pass it along."

 

"Now I'm curious what he draws," Nate said and Clint reached into his jeans to pull out a sophisticated phone. He punched in the security code, ignoring their raised eyebrows at the gray Stark Industries logo on the back, and held it out for Nate to see.

"That looks like one of the Avengers…." Jess said and Jolie leaned closer to look at it, nodding in agreement.

"Oops, wrong pic. Try this one." He held up the phone again to show Phil sleeping on a chaise lounger, legs spread wide with Clint in a black, paramilitary uniform between them, head resting on Phil's thigh.

"That's reminiscent of something I've seen from the nineteen-forties," Nate finally said, glancing between the two of them. 

"Wouldn't know anyone from the forties," Clint said with a grin, wincing when Phil twisted his fingers against his neck. "What?" he said, shifting away, "we weren't alive then."

"They had this interesting art exhibit in Boston several years ago with artwork they claimed came from Steve Rogers."

"How could anyone prove that?" Clint asked. "I thought the only people who knew him from that young were the guys who died with him."

"A friend of a neighbor who Rogers used to keep company is what they said. But you know how 'they' works," Nate said, complete with air quotes. "It was a friend, of a friend, of a friend type deal. I think they just wanted to get people in there by using Roger's name."

"What's the name of the gallery, do you remember?"

Nate rattled off the name and the street corner he was pretty sure it had been located on and Clint typed it in his phone.

"You a Captain America fan?" Jessica asked and Clint shook his head. 

"Nah, but Phil is."

"Clint," Phil sighed, "stop exaggerating."

"I've seen your pajamas, Phil. I'm not lying."

Phil took the phone from Clint's hands and added a brief typed note before hitting send, whispering, "You know you can't send a message with just an address and a name. He'll think you need rescuing."

"I can rescue myself!" Clint said and Phil snickered.

"I'm sure Natasha thinks so too."

"That's low."

"How does the police force get Stark issued phones?" Jolie's husband, Dave, asked, pointing to Phil's hands. 

"Sniper special," Clint said, tucking the phone away once more. 

"Are you on the Force as well?"

Phil started to answer but Clint interrupted with a grin. "He's our secretary."

"I'm cutting you off," Phil deadpanned before addressing Dave. "I work in HR."

"He runs it, don't let him fool you. He runs all of us. He's the best damn PR agent we have, and our favorite super nanny ever. Though he's a badass drill sergeant and we don't like that." Clint patted his hand, "Our very own Philoctetes."

"Yes, thank you for reducing my job to a Disney movie, I appreciate that."

Someone on the podium cleared their throat and they stopped talking and turned around to see Gavin and a couple other men on the stand. 

"Mel asked us to handle the Most Likeliest for the evening."

"What's this?" Clint asked and Phil only rolled his eyes.

"They assign a silly thing to people and now we're expected to fess up if it's true or not."

"Is there a written list?" Clint asked, sitting up and Phil stopped him from leaving with a hand on Clint's forearm.

"Don't you dare."

"Clint," Jess said, pushing a piece of paper across the table. "Here. It was in the program."

He read down the list and reached inside Phil's suit jacket, pulling out an SI pen, carefully check marking certain ones.

"If you embarrass me, Barton…"

"I'm just checking the ones that apply, Coulson."

Phil buried his head in his hands. 

Jess stood up, leaning over the table to read Clint's scribbles. "It doesn't work that way, they assigned one of that list in high school and what we have to do is announce if it was accurate or not."

"Phil," Clint whispered, "are you going to tell me or am I going to have to ask?"

"It's on the list, Barton," Phil said and Clint frowned. 

"When did you see the list?"

"When I first picked up the programs. Why do you think it's missing from ours?"

"Ninja," Clint said, leaning forward to bump Phil's shoulder. 

"That's not on the list," Nate said and Clint shook his head.

"It really should be. Phil is definitely a ninja in disguise." He was aware that Phil might shoot him later for all the liberties he took but whatever. Clint liked living dangerously. And it was a blast to watch these people who'd known teenaged, nerdy Phil Coulson begin to look at him a little differently now.

He couldn't wait for someone to figure out who he was. An assassin he might have once been but being an Avenger brought him too much attention. Even if he and Natasha tried to stay out of it, they were too frequently shown on the news.

 

Even Clint wasn't expecting the bombshell who sashayed over to their table, her purple, slinky dress making him forget to _breathe_ for half a second. God, she wasn't even a redhead and she put Pepper and Tasha to shame. Hell, Tony would brag about this one if he was here. He glanced at Phil, who just smirked at Barton's reaction. Beautiful she might be but Clint liked his women with brains. Damn, Natasha had spoiled him years ago.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said, one long finger tapping on Clint's shoulder, "but my sister and I have a bet and she's convinced I'm going to lose."

From the corner of his eye, Clint watched Phil take in the woman, his eyes dragging up and down and lingering on all the same curves Clint had lingered on. If Clint was the jealous type, he'd be climbing all over Phil's lap right now, claiming him. Instead he slouched in his seat, his foot brushing against Phil's dress shoe.

"I'm happy to fulfill requests for information," Clint said, voice bored.

"And will you let me reap the rewards of winning?" she asked, her smile better than Julia Roberts and Clint just stared at her for a moment. Why did everyone act like him sitting with Phil was a shock, or not real?

"Depends on the reward," he said, distantly registering Jessica clearing her throat – loudly – behind him but that was a needless reminder. "It won't be anything I'm personally involved in though."

"Why not?" she asked. 

"Not interested," Clint said and he could see Phil laughing from the corner of his gaze. No, Phil wasn't worried, just entertained. 

"So what was the bet?"

"What's your name?"

"Clint," he said, not offering anything else.

"And is that all you go by?"

"It's my only first name," he said, nodding. 

"So, no codename or nickname or anything else interesting?"

"Not really," Clint said, finally realizing he was tapping the pen on the table with three short and then three long taps. It made him smile. He reversed the pen in his hand and grasped it more like he would a weapon, and glanced over his shoulder.

"Jess, did she attend your high school?"

"Yes," Jess said, flicking her fingers against Nate's wrist until he jumped. 

"So I can't call you Hawkeye?"

"No," Clint said truthfully, because the only people allowed to call him that were his teammates or members of SHIELD. 

"I knew it," she said, brushing long strands of black hair behind her shoulder. "I didn't think anyone interesting would be here tonight." At that she stepped back and glanced at Phil, her smile changing to something predatory. "I remember you," she purred. 

"I can't say I have the same pleasure," Phil told her, voice flat and tight.

"No, I don't think you did." She turned and wandered away and Clint didn't grin as he heard multiple long breaths released. 

He leaned in to press a kiss to Phil's cheek, whispering, "I'm suddenly thinking about Hungary." And grinned as Phil laughed at him, raising one hand to rest it on Clint's shoulder. 

"Bastard," he mumbled, though he was still grinning.

"Who was that?" Clint asked.

"Brianna. She made it her goal to sleep with every man in our grade," Jess said, frowning. "Even if they were dating someone at the time."

And that explained Jess' furious expression and Nate's bruised wrist.

"Phil?" Clint asked.

"Oral," he said, not blushing. "I made her come twice."

"Really?" Dave said. "I spent about two minutes there before she kicked me out."

"Poor Jolie," Clint cooed and she laughed.

"Don't worry, I've taught him better," Jolie teased.

"Hey, Phil, do…"

"Barton, if you make a sexual joke right now, I'm going to leave you hanging for a month."

Clint shut up.

 

"Did you figure out which one might be Phil's?" Nate asked into the silence. 

"Narrowing it down," he said, still putting small X's by the options he liked. "I think my favorite is 'most likely to engage in intergalactic shenanigans'," Clint said. 

"Why's that?"

"Well, I was near Roswell last year," Clint admitted and Phil rolled his eyes. "Hey, there might have been aliens there!" Clint circled one sentence and pushed it to the center of the table. "That's my guess for Phil's."

"He's good," Jolie said and Clint shrugged. 

"Phil's over-organized and would survive the apocalypse. Being stranded on a desert island would be a cakewalk for him."

"It'd be peaceful," Phil said and Clint threw his head back and laughed. 

"As if we'd leave you there for long."

"We?" Phil said. "You wouldn't be with me?"

Clint winked at him, unable to hide his smile. "I go wherever you go, Coulson."

 

"You'd tell me if you hated tonight?" Clint asked, only the two of them still at the table. Dinner had been cleared, the steady lights replaced with an honest-to-god disco ball; everyone was on the dance floor or near the bar but them.

"I didn't hate it," he admitted. 

"They're happy to see _you_ , Phil. Just you, the geeky chess nerd they remember from high school."

"Do you want a gold star for being right, Barton?"

"Nah," Clint said. "I'd settle for a dance though."

"Not happening. We're here and obviously together and no one is giving us trouble, but if we start dancing, we'll get arrested for indecent exposure. I know you too well."

"That only happened once!"

"Which was too many times, Clint, I'm not pushing the tolerance levels of anyone tonight."

"We're not the only partners here," Clint said. "It's not like anyone here could hurt us if they started something. We've got some mad skills between us."

"Sometimes I think you learned how to talk from the internet, Barton."

"I love you too," he said, knowing it would shut Phil up. "Want another drink?"

"Please."

 

Midnight felt too early to leave and Phil was easily talked into visiting a bar down the road from the hotel, the six of them walking together.

"I want to play pool," Jess said and Nate groaned. "Clint, do you play?"

"I'm more of a darts man, myself," he admitted. They ended up splitting in two groups while there, Dave and Clint watching the dartboard while Jolie and Jess challenged Phil and Nate to a game of pool.

They won, of course, Clint deliberately choosing each spot his darts would land and exactly how close to the center they got. Dave was good company and between the two of them, they were having fun with the locals when something odd made him look up, glancing toward the pool table. 

Two burly men who Clint assumed were bikers had put money down on the edge, for all appearances challenging whomever won the game. "What?" he said. "So someone wants to challenge Jess at pool. That's normal."

"Phil's angry," Clint said. "I think they insulted Nate."

"How can you tell?" Dave asked, the two of them edging closer. "He's kinda deadpan with his expressions."

Whatever one of the two said made Nate stand up straight and sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. Phil moved closer to him, changing his grip on the stick and Clint only wanted to laugh. "Oh my god, we're going to have a bar fight," he whispered.

Except Phil would never forgive himself for that. Sighing, Clint walked up to stand beside him. Jolie calmly ushered Jess and Nate away from the small fight and they hid behind Dave.

One of the bikers looked at Clint, glanced away, then looked back at him, eyes wide.

"You're…"

"Yes," Clint said, arms crossed, ignoring Phil's snort of laughter, "And you're interrupting my evening off."

"Sorry sir," he said, throwing a half salute at Clint.

Phil dropped his head against Clint's spine, shaking with laughter.

"How'd you do that?" Dave asked and Clint shrugged.

"I'm just really good at what I do," he said. "Maybe they recognized me from the military."

"They were military?" Jess asked and Phil nodded.

"One was from the Corps and the other was Army." They looked at Phil and he shrugged. "Tattoos."

 

God – Clint wanted to claim Phil right there. Instead, he mock whispered, "We have an early day meeting your family." Phil just rolled his eyes, shrugging his shoulders. 

"We should call it a night," Jolie said, glancing at her husband's watch. "We need to get the babysitter home."

"Us too," Clint said and blushed at their odd looks. "Not the babysitter part!"

"Will we see you tomorrow?" Nate asked but Phil shook his head. 

"Checking out early to go to my sister's. Clint hasn't met any of them yet."

"Have fun," Jess said, hugging both of them goodbye.

They walked in silence for a moment before Clint brushed his hand against Phil's, "Thanks for this."

"You're welcome," he said, handing Clint the rental's keys to take them back to the hotel.


	2. Epilogue

"Holy mother of God," Dave said, dropping to the sofa in front of the television.

"Can you believe any of this?" Nate asked, watching the creatures dropping out of a hole in the sky. It was hard to remember they weren't watching a scifi movie.

"We are never, ever going on vacation there," Jess said and Jolie laughed. Her and Dave had made it to New York and back in one piece.

"Why does Phil choose to live there again?"

"I believe his husband of a sniper…" Jess said, then gasped and grabbed the remote out of Dave's hand and rewound.

"HEY!" three voices said, then fell silent as she paused it. It was a shaky picture but the man on the roof in black and maroon, with a freaking bow and arrow, was _definitely_ the husband in question.

"Is that…"

"Isn't that one of the Avengers?" Nate asked.

"Yes," Jolie said. "Hawkeye. The one we thought was insane to use a bow and arrow… hey, didn't Clint say he was a sniper?"

Jess pressed play and all four of them watch him shoot an arrow to his right while sighting a target left of himself. It blew up as he aimed and released another arrow. "That looks like a sniper to me."

"Does that mean," Dave started and all of them nodded as he asked, "that Phil Coulson is married to one of the Avengers?"

They watched on in silence, Jess taking Nate's hand as the six superheroes flitted in and out of camera range, and danger, until things calmed down. 

The blond reporter continued to narrate what was happening in Manhattan, her light grey suit dusted with ash. She leaned against the cordoned-off area, her voice still steady where her body wasn't, and let the rest of the world watch as the dust settled and the alien creatures fell to the ground, unmoving. 

In the background, sitting on the edge of an ambulance, was Tony Stark, half of his suit off while a man who resembled Steve Rogers wrapped gauze around Tony's bicep. 

Clint sat on the roof of said ambulance, hardly any arrows left in the quiver on his back. Captain America grimaced, and threw up a walkie-talkie to Clint who grinned as he spoke into it. Moments later, Phil, slightly disheveled, walked into the background, talking on another walkie-talkie. He paused to answer something Tony Stark said, then glanced up to look at Clint. 

"I'm thinking that Phil doesn't actually work for the police force…" Jess said, not commenting on the chorus of No's that answered her. He was going to have some questions to answer the next time they saw him…

"Huh," Dave said and Jolie glanced at him. 

"What?"

"I played darts with Hawkeye. You think he threw that game?"

Nate snorted with laughter and shook his head. "Yeah, Dave. I'm thinking he threw that game."

Jess grabbed her phone and sent off a quick text.

_Watched the news. We're all glad you and the spouse are safe. <3 _

Let Phil Coulson stew on that for a little bit.


End file.
